


The Most Influential Person

by mediwitch3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediwitch3/pseuds/mediwitch3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds Sam's college essay. Drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Influential Person

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble based on a prompt. Sam’s essay is vaguely based on my own, so I hope it’s okay. I didn’t try too hard to make it accurate, and it’s over the word limit, but whatever.

The day Dean drops Sam off at the bus is the worst day of his life. He feels completely, utterly, alone. For two weeks he drinks and he fucks and he hunts and he resolutely doesn't think about the hole in his side where his brother used to fit.

 

And then, one day roughly two weeks after Sam leaves, Dean's looking through the arsenal in his trunk for one of his shotguns, when an envelope falls out. It's a thin, white, little number; plain on the outside save for his name scrawled across the center in Sam's neat handwriting. Dean opens it gingerly, heart pounding.

 

He draws out a solitary sheaf of paper—just plain computer paper, black ink marring the page. _Dean,_ it reads at the top in hurried handwriting, _I wasn't sure if I wanted you to read this, but I think you should. —Sam_

 

His hands are shaking as he takes a deep breath, his eyes sliding shut as he tries to calm himself down. He rubs a hand over his face, turning to perch in the open trunk of the Impala as he begins to read.

 

 _My mom died when I was six months old,_ it starts, and Dean knows already that this is going to be a tough read. _There was a fire in my nursery, and she died trying to save me. My brother, Dean, pulled me out. He was four, and he's been taking care of me since then. A hero in the truest form, I've never known anyone as brave as my brother._

 

_My dad raised us on the road—we moved every couple of weeks, lived in motels and rented apartments. My dad's job kept him away most of the time, so Dean had to take care of me. When we were really little, we stayed with my dad's friend—as we got older, however, dad started leaving us alone more._

 

_I remember, one Christmas, I had this gift for my dad—something my Uncle Bobby gave me, something really special. I was so excited, thinking that maybe this Christmas would be happy. I was really worried that dad wouldn't make it home—which he didn't, in the end—but Dean kept telling me he would, he would, even if it's just to drop stuff off, Sammy, he'll be here._

 

 _He woke me up at six in the morning, saying “look, Sammy, dad was here! Look at all the presents he brought us!”. There was a tiny tree—falling apart, like the one in_ Charlie Brown _,with two presents sitting under it. I was obviously excited, as I thought my dad had actually made it._

 

_When I opened the presents though, to find a barbie doll and a baton, it hit me that dad hadn't ever actually been there. Dean had gotten the presents and the tree for me, to keep me happy—he hadn't known they what the presents were. I sat there, surrounded by wrapping paper for the first time in my life, and realized that dad wasn't the one I should be getting gifts for. It was Dean. Dad hadn't cared enough to even call on Christmas, and Dean stole to try and keep me happy. So I gave Dean the present I had gotten for my dad._

 

_Dean doesn't know this, but I still have the baton and barbie. I'm bringing them with me, wherever I end up, because that Christmas was probably the best one I've ever had. Dean's my hero, the only person in my life I can always count on to be there for me, and he never asks for anything in return. I love my brother, more than anyone, and he has taught me so much—from walking and talking to fixing his car—and I know that no matter what happens, I'll never be able to repay him. I hope I can at least try by getting the education and having the life I know he wants for me; my brother is my drive, the reason for which I do almost everything, and I don't regret that at all. He deserves to be someone's sun, and he's mine._

 

By the end of it, Dean's crying—not _crying,_ really, just manly weeping. He wipes hurriedly at his eyes, the paper in his fingers crumpled from where he's been crushing it. He blows out a hard breath through his lips, trying to get a grip on himself as he decides where to go from here.

 

In the end, he picks up the phone.


End file.
